


The Sign for Family

by narcissablaxk



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fair warning., M/M, Martin gets bullied at school, Nygmobblepot, So just a little bit of violence?, nygmobblepot week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: Martin comes home from school one day, and it falls to Edward to comfort him, as Martin's "Papa" is out of the house. For Nygmobblepot Week, day four: Martin.





	The Sign for Family

The first time Ed met Martin, the boy hid behind Victor Zsasz, which in itself felt like an insult. How could a child be more intimidated by Ed than Victor Zsasz, of all people? But that had nothing to do with the matter at hand; what was important was his tenuous truce with Oswald, brought together only to make sure that Barbara, Selina, and Tabitha realized that they owed their allegiance to him and not to the Narrows. 

Mostly, Ed just wanted them out of the Narrows so he could go back to existing in peace, with Lee and Grundy. He liked his life of self-induced isolation, an idea he had accidentally borrowed from Lee. It was easier to survive in Gotham when he and Oswald both stuck to their respective sides of the city. 

Alas, circumstance brought them to the same side again, and Ed was forced to swallow his pride and help. The little boy, with a wide notepad on a lanyard strung around his neck, buried his face in Zsasz’s leg while Oswald talked, and Ed found his eyes straying back to the child more often than anywhere else. 

What was a child doing here, anyway, listening to these plans, with profanities thrown around willy-nilly? Who did he belong to? 

“You hungry, buddy?” Victor asked, his hands rapidly following his words in what Ed quickly realized was sign language. “Let’s get you some food.” He turned to Oswald. “Boss, I’m gonna –”

“Do what you must, Victor,” Oswald waved him off. He regarded the little boy with reverence, and signed something, patting him on the head as he walked by. “As I was saying –”

Ed wasn’t listening. Based on the context, the boy looked to be Oswald’s son, but Oswald didn’t have a son. The man wasn’t particularly fond of children, either. He furrowed his brow and decided to solve the mystery himself, later. 

***

He learned that Martin was very dear to Oswald a few months after that, after Barbara and her crew had been wrestled back to Oswald’s territory and Ed had been allowed to return to his own. He spent his few weeks away from Oswald surreptitiously looking into him and his ward, digging up very few details along the way. All he learned was that the boy came into his care by way of Sofia Falcone, and his name was Martin. 

Dissatisfied but forced to leave his investigation behind, Ed forced the curious boy from his mind. 

***

A year or so later, he and Oswald embarked upon a truce; Ed’s time in the Narrows came to a close organically when Butch regained his memory and Lee managed to open up a legitimate clinic with the money Grundy had won (and Ed donated). With no club to run and no fighter to keep in line, Ed wandered, listless, until he found himself back in the Iceberg Lounge, nursing a grasshopper. 

Oswald had offered him a place in his empire, so long as Ed could put aside their former rivalry. There was no indication that they would be friends again, but that didn’t matter much. Ed craved something more than friends; he wanted normalcy, a routine. He wanted a real life, not one that ticked by slowly because danger and death slowed it down. 

He and Oswald managed to eke out an existence together without fighting for a while. When they did fight, they were careful not to drudge up the past, and as their past indiscretions slid into memory, it was easier to fall into old patterns. 

It was easy to fall past them, as well. 

***

Another few months after their truce finally took hold, Ed realized that he hadn’t heard from the Riddler since his reunion with Oswald. The realization came upon him suddenly, while he was making tea, and he left the leaves steeping for far too long, searching his brain for the last time his dark side had called out to him or asked him to step away from the light so he could take over. His time with Oswald was good for him, he realized. There was no other way to put it. 

That time made it easy for Ed to see things that he had originally missed; the way Oswald allowed him free roam of the mansion, a treat no one else was offered; the lingering way Oswald’s hand would stay on his arm when he showed him something important; the easy, comfortable silences. 

Being here with him, not quite friends and not quite lovers, made it easy to cross lines Ed didn’t remember drawing. It was simple to reach over and take Oswald’s hand during dinner sometimes; it was just like breathing. He found that he made extra coffee just because Oswald might need it later, and he brought home the flowers Oswald liked. Oswald, in turn, would shower him with gifts, like the new pistol he’d given Ed the week before, the handle sparkling with emeralds. He would make him toast in the morning and have it waiting for him when Ed woke up. 

They would drink wine together on Saturday nights and cuddle on the couch, tipsy and sleepy and comfortable. 

Martin was still a little wary of Ed, though that didn’t bother him much. Ed’s own childhood made him very twitchy around children, especially one with a penchant for staring right through you. More often than not, Martin would focus on Oswald when the two of them were in the room at the same time, waving briefly to Ed on his way out the door. Ed preferred it that way, he supposed. He didn’t want to get too close to the boy, lest he do something that he shouldn’t around a child. 

He was barely sure about the boundaries of adults most of the time, much less children.

He poured his tea and took the tray into the study, where Oswald was reading the newspaper. 

“You read my mind,” he said breathlessly, reaching for his own teacup. Ed felt a surge of pleasure at the inadvertent praise, and took the seat beside Oswald. 

“Oswald,” Ed began tentatively, feeling only more pressure when Oswald immediately put down his paper. “Do you remember –” he hesitated, and watched as Oswald’s face tightened in anticipation. “Do you remember the…the Riddler?” 

His face relaxed, and he brought his cup to his lips to take a sip. “Of course I do,” he said simply. “Why do you ask?” 

Nerves coiled in Ed’s belly, but he pressed on, his fingers pushing and pulling at the tiny handle of his teacup. “I realized today that I – well, he – he hasn’t been around in a long time, and that’s – uh, well –” he pushed his glasses up his nose, even though they hadn’t slipped. “Thank you.” 

Oswald blinked. “My dear Ed, I didn’t do anything.”

Ed placed his hand over Oswald’s. “Still.” 

***

Ed completely moved into the mansion only a few weeks after that. It was easier this way, Oswald had justified, since he was there so often, and why not save money by just living in the same place? Ed had shrugged and agreed, and Martin graced Ed with a momentary flash of a smile. 

Ed was now free to sit in his own room in the manor and read, a luxury he hadn’t had in a long time (his apartment and his belongings had been auctioned off during his time on ice). He did just that during the day, when Oswald was at the club, maintaining his status as King of Gotham. 

He was reading about the way the bubonic plague affected Europe years after its eradication when a clattering sound reached his ears, and Ed immediately reached for his dagger, always ready at his bedside. 

“Hello?” he called, and heard nothing. 

He crept through the door and down the stairs, ears straining for sound. “Hello?” he asked again. 

Another thud, this time in the hallway, close to Oswald’s room. Ed turned that way, his dagger held up and ready. “Who’s there?” 

He spotted a beam of light from around the corner, and deduced that it was coming from the master suite that Oswald occupied. “Oswald?” he called. 

Who would sneak around the mansion like this? All of their enemies had no problem attacking either one of them out in the open. Perhaps he was imagining things, and this was just a rat, or a hallucination. But no, the Riddler didn’t hide either. 

He pushed open the door to Oswald’s room completely and spotted a pair of small shoes sticking out from under the bed. He sighed, lowering his knife. “Martin?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be at school?” 

The shoes wiggled only slightly, and slid further under the bed. 

“No, no, I’m not chastising you,” Ed amended quickly, dropping to his knees to peer under the bed. “What’s going on?” 

The boy had his face covered, his uniform askew. 

“Come on out, Martin, so we can talk,” Ed coaxed. 

The little shoes appeared first, followed by Martin’s school-issued shorts and collared shirt. The collar was stained, Martin’s hands covering his mouth and nose. Ed felt his stomach drop. There was no way he was prepared for whatever Martin was hiding behind his hands. Whatever it was would bring Oswald’s righteous fury down on whoever caused it, and if Ed didn’t handle this the right way, that fury might come down on him, too. 

“Can I see?” he signed to Martin, who shook his head. “Please?” 

With a resigned sigh, Martin lowered his hands, and Ed rushed to his side. His nose was dripping blood onto the carpet, his lip split. The blood was definitely his own, and, as Ed looked closer, he saw that his front tooth was chipped. 

“Who did this to you?” he asked, forgoing signing while his eyes searched for something to catch the blood. 

Martin signed something quickly, a name, he was sure, but Ed wasn’t very good at deciphering the alphabet. He scooped the kid up in his arms and took him to the bathroom, where he set him gently on the edge of the counter. 

“I’m gonna check on your nose and lip, okay?” he asked. “Can I clean it up?” 

Martin nodded and winced like it hurt. Ed’s heart ached at the sight of it. He knew what it felt like to be bullied, by adults and by children. This boy didn’t deserve it. He dabbed up the blood as best he could, and cleaned the cut on Martin’s lip gently, checking to make sure the boy didn’t need stitches. The tooth looked okay; it was still a baby tooth, but Oswald would want to schedule an appointment with a dentist to make sure. 

“Anywhere else hurt?” he signed. Martin shook his head, big tears forming in his eyes. No, no, no, no, they were rapidly approaching a child-related event that Ed could not manage. “Don’t cry, Martin, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, does it hurt?” 

Martin shook his head and signed quickly, his hands trembling. 

_“Papa taught me how to fight, and I still did nothing,”_ he said. 

Before he realized what he was doing, Ed scooped the boy into a gentle hug. “It happens to the best of us, Martin. There is nothing dishonorable in losing a fight. Sometimes the odds just aren’t in our favor.”

Martin was shaking with silent cries now, and the longer Ed held him, the angrier he became. How could someone hurt this poor child, he thought. What had he done to deserve it? He took a deep breath, trying to control the anger that Oswald would have in spades when he came home. He released the boy and tilted his chin up to look him in the eye. 

_“Will Papa be mad at me?”_ the boy signed before Ed could speak. 

“Oh, Martin,” Ed breathed, kneeling down so the boy didn’t have to look up anymore. “No. Your papa will be very angry, but not at you. He will be angry at the person who hurt you.” 

Martin sniffed, wiping his nose. Ed smiled sadly at him, and held out his hand. “I think today calls for some ice cream,” Ed said companionably. “What do you think?” 

They spent that afternoon watching old cartoons and eating ice cream, Ed periodically checking to make sure that Martin’s nose wasn’t bleeding or that his tooth was feeling okay. He felt paranoid, asking the poor child how he felt so often, but Martin didn’t seem to mind. By the time Oswald came home later that evening, Martin was cuddled into Ed’s side, sound asleep. 

“Ed, I –” he stopped in the doorway, his eyes landing on Martin immediately. 

“It’s been a bit of a day,” Ed explained, his voice barely above a whisper. “But uhh, you might not to want to go into your bathroom for a while.” 

Oswald furrowed his brows. “Why?” 

“I – well –” Ed hesitated. “Martin came home a little early today,” he began. “Something happened at school –”

 _“What?”_ Oswald exclaimed, loud enough that he shook the little boy awake. “Martin,” he said, rushing to the boy’s side. 

_“Papa!”_ he signed, smiling widely. 

“What happened to his tooth?” Oswald asked, his voice already dangerously still. Martin glanced back at Ed, his eyes wide. “Ed, _what happened to my boy?”_

“He came home with a bloody nose and lip, but I couldn’t make out who did it,” Ed burst out in a rush. “I cleaned him up and made sure he was okay and we just…we just watched cartoons. I wasn’t sure what to do, Oswald, he said he was okay –”

But Martin was signing something that Ed couldn’t see, and Oswald’s eyes were on the boy’s hands, the fury melting away to something softer. 

“What?” Ed asked anxiously. 

“Martin says that you were a very good papa today,” Oswald said. “His words, not mine.” 

“I –” Ed stammered. “Well, I – I certainly tried to help –”

Oswald collapsed onto the couch beside them both. “Martin, you and I are going to go to your school tomorrow and I am going to rain hell on the person that did that to you. Are we clear?” 

The boy nodded. 

“In the meantime, I think we all earned some time here,” Oswald finished, scooting close enough to Martin to put himself in Ed’s embrace as well. “Don’t you agree?” he asked Ed, who smiled. 

“I do.”


End file.
